


Not a Wedding--Interlude II

by Feygan



Series: Not A Wedding [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Futurefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-01
Updated: 2003-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feygan/pseuds/Feygan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy Olsen and Clark Kent, both fantasizing about what they don't have.  --"But he wasn't gay."--</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Wedding--Interlude II

## Not a Wedding--Interlude II

by Feygan

* * *

Superman flew out of a clear blue sky, diving into the raging inferno without a single pause. It was awesome to watch, the tiny speck of a man heading straight into the flames, ignoring the danger. Smooth lines of blue fabric stretched tight over rippling muscles, the bright splash of the red cape swirling close around him as he disappeared into the burning skyscraper. 

Watching from behind the police lines, snapping pictures with his camera, Jimmy Olsen was as amazed by Superman as he always was. Every single time he saw Superman was like the first time. The guy was just _amazing_. 

Watching the blue and red figure zip in and out of the burning building, carrying people to safety, Jimmy ignored the pressure in his groin. He kept himself focused on taking pictures. There was no reason to get excited just because a gorgeous, muscular man danced in the air wearing nothing but a thin layer of spandex and some hair gel. And of course, Jimmy was so not gay. 

Swallowing hard around the knot in his throat, Jimmy just kept snapping pictures of Superman saving the day once again. He tried not to wonder if the guy really _was_ faster than a speeding bullet and about how disappointed that would make him. He _was not_ thinking about Superman as a love object. He _was not_ an obsessed fangirl. He was a calm and cool professional photographer and wasn't about to let anyone tell him otherwise, even if Superman _did_ have large hands and fuck me, suck me sculpted lips. 

Then Superman landed on the ground about six feet in front of him, handing a blanket wrapped girl over to the paramedics, and Jimmy didn't even know where his professionalism had gone. 

Superman was just so fucking beautiful, with those "suck me" lips and those mysterious eyes. Long legs, flat stomach, abs to kill for, and an ass that could crack rocks. There was no way he could be human. He was too perfect, too handsome, too smart, too _everything_. His presence was larger than life, and there was no way he could be anything less than a god, and certainly nothing so small as merely human. 

Jimmy thought that maybe he was supposed to be jealous of Superman, but it was never going to happen. Superman's complete perfection was something beyond the normal, so all-encompassing that no one could ever feel lessened by it, only blessed that it could ever exist in a universe so flawed. 

It was hard to look directly at Superman without feeling like you couldn't breathe. He was just so wonderful... it was impossible to look away. 

"Hey Superman!" Jimmy yelled, waving his right arm, but keeping his camera to his face with his left. He needed the shield provided by the plastic, metal and glass. He thought sometimes that if he looked straight at Superman with his eyes unguarded, he would go blind from the bright, sharp-edged beauty. His corneas would just be melted into his skull by the seared perfection of alien splendor. 

Superman turned and saw him. For a second that beautiful face remained blank, then Superman smiled a little. "Hello Jimmy." He didn't seem to raise his voice, but that deep rumble filled the air, making Jimmy's spine shiver and melt a little. That voice went down to the bones of anyone listening, just crawled into their skin and licked over that sexual core of energy deep inside. All sight unseen, Superman's voice was deep enough, nerve tremblingly melodious and muscle clenching enough to bring people off with a single word, and the rest of his package only added to the pleasure. 

Jimmy fought down a stupid grin and managed a cool nod instead. "Good job saving everyone, Superman." He was proud that he _did not_ gush like an idiot, though the way his face flamed uncontrollably was worth a few points off. Still, he was getting better at not embarrassing himself in front of the great Superman, so that was a definite plus. 

"Thanks, Jimmy," Superman said. "I have to go now." 

He floated gently upward, then zoomed off into the sky, headed wherever superheroes went after the trouble was passed. 

Jimmy sighed heavily and lowered his camera, letting it hang loosely around his neck. His pants were feeling uncomfortably tight and he knew his face was tomato red, but it didn't matter. 

He was one of the few people that Superman spoke to directly. Superman knew his name and was almost friendly to him. It wasn't such a long step to imagine him, Jimmy Olsen, and Superman rolling naked on a beach somewhere with palm trees overhead and the gentle roar of the sea around them. 

He would love to get Superman out of his cape. But Jimmy wasn't gay. 

* * *

Veteran of a thousand rescues, Clark was tired of always having to play the role of Superman. Just once he wished he could be like everyone else. What a wonder it would be to just be able to ignore the calls for help, to close his ears and not have to listen to the screams around him. He never signed on to be anyone's savior. 

Yet here he was in tights and a cape. His life had just gone so far out of control that he didn't even know what he was doing anymore. He had a role to play, and no one was letting him back out of it. He cursed the decision he had made to wear the costume. If only there was someone else to take his place. He was just tired of it all. He needed a hero. 

After zipping halfway around the world, he streaked his way back home, riding in low under the radar, moving so fast that the human eye couldn't even see him as a blur of red and blue. He just disappeared. 

It was always a bit of a pain having to be all secretive about going home. He couldn't just go back to his apartment, he had to hide the approach. There were probably tons of people that didn't even really believe he lived in Metropolis. They probably thought that whenever there was trouble he hopped in his teleporter and magically appeared at the epicenter of whatever disaster. They didn't have to know how much trouble he went through to hide where he lived and who he was. 

With the curtains still rustling from his flying past them, he closed the window with a dull bang, not quite hard enough to break the glass. He was tired of being everybody's hero. Sometimes he just wished that his life had headed in a different direction. 

He wished that there was a hero out there for him, someone that would save him from his life and take him away to something different. He didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to have to taste the ash of defeat when someone died in his arms, still believing he would save them. He wanted something different, better. He wanted the chance to go back and change his mind about becoming a superhero. He wanted to be normal. 

He could _almost_ picture in his mind the perfect life he wanted to live, but it was always kind of blurry and he was happy to leave the details up to fate. He just wanted to be happy and to have someone to love. But he knew it was impossible, no one could ever really love him, not all of him. 

Everyone wanted Superman, wanted to be kept safe from the troubles of the world by the great hero, protected from all harm by the shield of his large body. No one wanted their hero to be tough on the outside with a gooey center; they wanted him to be iron through and through, and that was never going to happen. Because even though he had superpowers to rival any demi-god, inside he was just Clark Kent, and it was only Superman who was invulnerable. 

Tugging off his Superman costume, he trudged tiredly across his bedroom toward the shower. He was covered in soot and smelled strongly of smoke and other peoples' sweat and fear. It was kind of disgusting. 

Stepping into the shower, he turned the water on as hot as it would go. He wanted to wash off a day as Superman. He didn't want to smell like other peoples' pain and suffering, and he _definitely_ didn't want to smell as self-righteous as Superman. 

Sometimes he really wished for the days when he had smelled like soap and the farm, though he was always careful never to think about those few times when he had smelled a little bit like Lex's expensive cologne. He didn't want to think about Lex, which meant he immediately started thinking about Lex. 

With a harsh sigh, he bowed his head to let the water run down his neck. He didn't want to slip into one of his frequent fantasies about the bald-headed billionaire. He didn't want to think about Lex naked, since it was never going to happen. 

He didn't love Lex. He loved _Lois_. And if he kept repeating it over and over, maybe he would stop thinking about Lex all together, and the only person he would see would be brave, beautiful, sharp-tongued Lois, with her lightning wit and her willingness to do almost anything for a story. 

He would not think about a smooth, clean scalp that hinted at smooth nakedness beneath the perfectly pressed clothes. He would not think about supple limbs that not even the sun got to kiss. He would not think about a wryly twisted mouth and raptor's eyes that held a hidden warmth just for him. He would not think about gentle hands pressing against his chest, stroking down his stomach, and caressing his cock with quiet surety. He would not think about that devil's mouth suckling on him with warm abandon. He would not think about... 

Clark made a sound of angry frustration deep in his throat. He couldn't stop his brain. 

He should have been dreaming about Lois, but instead his brain insisted on picturing Lex, a man he hadn't talked to directly in over five years, ever since their... _disagreement_. When their friendship had fallen apart. 

It was a shameful secret that Clark Kent saved newspaper clippings, video taped interviews and magazine covers of Lex Luthor. He hid them under his mattress where most other guys kept their porn, and that was pretty much what he used them for. He jerked off to images of Lex sneering, smirking and frowning out at him from their two-dimensional prisons. 

It used to be that he could pretend he wasn't obsessed with Lex. He could pretend that he was normal, that there were other people in the world for him. Lately though, as things had begun to heat up with Lois, in the quiet times of his imagination all he could see was Lex. He couldn't even masturbate to images of other people anymore... there was only Lex, filling up every bit of space inside him, taunting him with what he couldn't have, what he threw away in a moment of post-adolescent fury. 

Some days he really hated himself. He had _had_ Lex and just let him go. Now they weren't even passing acquaintances. They were strangers on the street. 

Clark thought that maybe if people asked about him, Lex would just say he was some farm boy he had met in his time in Smallville, a nobody. It didn't matter anymore that they had been friends, that Lex had been the best friend he'd had and thought that he would _ever_ have. 

"Dammit," he muttered, giving in to his body's demands. He closed his eyes and imagined Lex on his knees before him. Grasping his cock in his hand, he pretended it was Lex's mouth surrounding him, could almost _see_ that elegantly curved skull bowing to worship his upthrust erection. 

With his hand tight around his cock, he could admit that he didn't want to be friends with Lex anymore. He wanted to own Lex, possess him body and soul. He wanted to crawl into Lex's skin and never come out, merge so completely with him that no one would be able to tell the difference between them. He wanted to love Lex, worship Lex, destroy Lex so completely that Lex would fill every particle of his being. 

Stroking his erection with brutal strength, he punished himself with images of naked, begging Lex, though he had never seen Lex beg. He _had_ seen him naked though, shameful peeks through layers of cloth with his X-ray vision. He had always thought that he would have more of Lex than those stolen glimpses, but it was not to be. At least he had the painful joy of those illicit images. He didn't know what he would have done without them, probably would have gone insane trying to imagine the beauty of Lex's body beneath his clothes. 

He imagined Lex spread out naked on his bed, offering himself to Clark, his eyes smoky with desire. He imagined those long, lean legs sweetly parted with that proud, upthrust cock brushing his stomach, dripping precome, begging for Clark's mouth. He imagined Lex smirking and bending his knees, exposing that sweet hole, all mysterious shadow and tight, sheathing warmth. He imagined... 

His eyes snapped open and the breath blew out of him as he came hard. "Lex!" The name echoed around the shower stall, reverberating with a power far beyond the single syllable. 

He quickly finished and rinsed himself off in the already cooling water. He ignored the tears trickling out of his eyes, pretended they weren't there. 

With brisk efficiency, he washed his body and shampooed his hair, washing away the stink of smoke and lust. He had a date with Lois tonight and he would have to hurry to make it. The fire had eaten up most of his spare time. 

Stepping out of the shower, water drops glistening in the coarse tangle of his pubic hair, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't think about Lex. He would focus entirely on Lois and the rest of his life. 

It was a promise he made every day, and broke with every breath he took. 


End file.
